


Slytherin Eighth Years are Shit at Potions (or are they?)

by thecouchsofa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 15:55:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13550658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecouchsofa/pseuds/thecouchsofa
Summary: The Slytherin eighth years decide it’ll be a right laugh if they use a temporary love potion to make Draco fall in love with Harry. It doesn’t work, but not for the reason they think.





	Slytherin Eighth Years are Shit at Potions (or are they?)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://clracomalfoy.tumblr.com/post/93547607755/drarry-au-in-which-the-slytherins-slip-draco-a)

It seemed like a brilliant idea when Blaise suggested it one day in the common room, everyone sitting around the fire laughing and drinking. Draco really should have expected something like this would happen; everyone knows that if you’re the only person absent during the group meetings in the common room, then, if everyone’s in a nice mood, you’re the one that’s going to be gossiped about, and plotted against if it’s all been a bit too _dull_ as of late. Plotting was how they’d been getting through the drag of their eighth year. It had brought the few returning Slytherins of their year closer together, becoming like a little family as they bent their heads in a circle, discussing how they would enact elaborate plans against those in the years below them, as well as those in the other houses. They hardly ever completely went through with what they plotted; they didn’t want to get expelled, after all. They really only plotted against the first years anymore. They were all so dreadfully scared of all the eighth year Slytherins, no doubt thinking of them all as full blown Death Eaters, or some other utter rubbish.

Maybe that was why Draco was practically morphing into a Ravenclaw, spending enough time studying in the library and common room that it might actually rival Granger’s most insane N.E.W.T.s study records.

Pansy suspected he was trying to move as far away from the pervasive Slytherin stereotypes as he possibly could, now that they were back at school after the war. It would make sense, considering how much more involved in the losing cause he’d been than the rest of them, willing or not. Pansy could understand, but that didn’t mean Draco’s newfound love for studying and revision didn’t make her want to scream with boredom. Because, _really_ , who leaves a dorm party with _actual_ Firewhiskey smuggled in from Hogsmeade to go and meet with Professor bloody McGonagall about getting extra credit for a Transfiguration project they’d been working on in their own time? Draco, apparently. Maybe he was just trying to give Granger a run for her money that year.

So, on that fateful night when all of the eighth years were gathered together in the common room, Draco was apparently in the library, studying up for the Charms test that wasn’t four at _least_ three days. It was utter madness. Naturally, that gave everyone free reign to talk about him.

“So what’s our next plan of attack?” Pansy asked, running a hand through the ends of her hair.

“Think Draco needs to be reminded of just how fun it is to plan as a group?” Blaise asked, shooting a spell into the fire to make it burn even hotter and brighter than before.

“We should do something _really_ devious,” Millicent said, stroking the head of her ridiculous Kneazle, its ears sticking half a foot up above its head. “He deserves it for abandoning us all, really.”

“What would really rile Draco up?” Daphne mused, tapping a finger on her lip. “It’d have to be good. Something he’d notice, since he barely pays us any attention anymore.”

“Anything to do with Potter would work,” Pansy laughed, stretching out on the armchair and crossing her legs over the armrest. “He’s always noticed Potter. If we do something that involves him then there’s no way Draco won’t notice.”

“What about a love potion?” Blaise suggested. He sat up and stared into the fire, very obviously plotting.

“Elaborate,” Pansy said, leaning forward. “It’d have to be Draco that took it. Potter and his mates would throw a bloody fit if we gave anything to him. It couldn’t be a full strength one, or else Draco might forget what he did afterwards, and where’s the fun in that?”

“We’ll probably need to brew it ourselves. Something temporary, and that won’t cause memory loss. Merlin, it’d be a right laugh if Draco was all over Potter for a day. He’d go mental after it wore off. We might have to brush up on our defensive spells.” Blaise rubbed his hands together, smirking.

“He’ll look a right sod, but Potter will be too nice to actually hex him over it. He’s probably used to people throwing themselves all over him. It’s brilliant,” Millie cried.

“And also probably illegal,” Daphne said sadly. “We’d be expelled if we attached Draco to Potter.”

“We’ll just make a temporary love potion,” Blaise grinned. “Something that will wear off after a day with no lasting effects.”

“It’s like my wildest dreams are coming true,” Pansy sighed, stretching her arms above her head. “Someone pull out some parchment so we can write down the ingredients.”

It took a week to brew the potion, hiding it under Millie’s bed with a bunch of strong Disillusionment charms surrounding it so Draco wouldn’t find it. Not that he suspected anything, so it was his own fault, really. He’d been a part of more plots than Pansy could count when he’d actually used to turn up to their little group meetings in previous years. He’d lead most of the plots, in fact. Maybe he thought they wouldn’t have the guts to pull one on him. He’d be hilariously livid when he realized what they’d done.

When it came time to administer the potion, they’d had to bribe Greg with the promise of writing two Defense essays for him before he’d agree to do it. Greg had handed Draco a glass of Firewhiskey and had proposed a toast, making a speech about Kneazles and Skrewts which didn’t make a lick of sense to Pansy, but she was pretty sure Draco hadn’t even been attempting to listen, so Greg could say whatever he bloody well liked as long as Draco drank the potion.

Draco did. He gulped down the Firewhiskey and immediately returned to his Potions essay, scribbling words down on the parchment at breakneck speed.

Pansy rolled her eyes at the gleeful expressions that painted her friends faces. Merlin, they were being amazingly bloody obvious.

Draco had turned into such a sodding Ravenclaw at the start of their eighth year, and the whole thing had become quite boring. Maybe once he’d come down from the love potion he’d remember what fun they’d all used to have plotting against the younger students and unsuspecting Hufflepuffs and return to his usual self. If Draco hadn’t been so focused on his work then he would have been able to tell straight away that they were all up to something.

Draco didn’t seem any different when he woke up after taking the potion. Pansy was a little grateful, because she didn’t exactly want to hear Draco nattering on about Potter before she’d had her first glass of pumpkin juice spiked with Firewhiskey for the morning. In fact, Draco didn’t mention Potter at all on the way to breakfast. Instead, he was walking around with a great bloody bit of parchment in front of his face attempting to memorize the recipe for an anti-poisoning potion that they’d be making in class later. Merlin, he really _was_ turning into a Ravenclaw.

Pansy made a joke about how the Sorting Hat was going to make Draco change dorms, but Draco wasn’t even listening. No amount of tossing her hair could get Draco to look Pansy’s way. It was complete madness of course, because no bloody midnight poppy petals and crushed elderberries could compare to the way her tits looked in her slightly unbuttoned school shirt. It had to be the potion making Draco not want to look at anyone but Potter. Yes, that was it.

But Draco didn’t mention Potter when they were in the Great Hall, either. He’d glanced across the room and quickly looked away, so he clearly knew Potter was there. To their friend’s despair, Draco made no moves to run across the room into Potter’s arms, or stand on the table and declare his undying love, as they’d all hoped he would.

“Someone should say something to him,” Daphne hissed, glancing at Pansy significantly.

Pansy sighed, but tapped Draco on the shoulder, distracting him from his successful attempt to eat his eggs and read his stupid bloody potions recipe at the same time.

“Draco, don’t you think Potter looks quite dashing today?” she asked, forcing a smile onto her face.

Blaise and Millie snickered, clearly not able to hold a poker face as well as Pansy.

But Draco didn’t launch into a speech about Potter’s masculine wiles as expected; he just stared at Pansy as if she’d gone mad.

“Actually, I think his face looks as stupid as ever,” Draco replied, returning his gaze to the parchment in front of him.

Pansy turned to look at her friends, their faces displaying their confusion.

“Uh, his hair’s looking quite shiny. I wonder what product he’s using. Don’t you agree, Draco?” Blaise said.

Draco frowned down at his eggs, saying nothing.

Millie shrugged, one eyebrow quirked.

Clearly they’d have to push a bit harder.

In the halls, Blaise steered Draco in the opposite direction of their Muggle Studies classroom, pushing him towards where Potter was chatting to his friends further down the hall.

“Blaise, what the bloody hell are you doing?” Draco cried, slapping at Blaise’s hands. “I’m going to be late for class.”

“You’ll survive,” Pansy replied, walking past them. “Look, Potter’s down that way.”

“So bloody what?” Draco cried, glaring at Blaise.

“Well, don’t you want to go say hi?” Blaise asked.

“I’d rather hex my big toe off,” Draco replied. “Now if you’ll _excuse_ me.”

“Potter,” Pansy called, grabbing onto Draco’s forearm as he tried to walk away. “Hello.”

“Uh, hello Pansy,” Potter said quizzically, turning to face them. “Draco.”

“We just thought we’d stop and say hi,” Pansy said, tugging on Draco’s arm. “Draco, say hi to Potter.”

Draco stared at Pansy for a moment before obviously deciding that compliance was his best strategy for getting to Muggle Studies as soon as possible.

“Hello, Potter,” Draco said. “Pansy, I really do need to go.”

“No, stay and talk to Potter,” Pansy said.

“You’ve gone mental,” Draco replied. “I’m going to class. _Goodbye_ , Pansy. Potter.” He nodded at Potter, before turning and jogging down the hallway.

“Bloody hell,” Blaise muttered, staring after him.

“Um, did you guys need something?” Potter asked, glancing between them.

“Hmm,” Blaise said. “Potter, could you do us a favor?”

“Depends on what it is,” Potter said warily.

“Say hi to Draco during Potions later, would you? He’s a bit worked up about the test and it’s doing our heads in.”

“Oh, sure,” Potter said. “Look, I’ve got to go, but I’ll make sure to do that.”

“Well this is working out to be far less amusing than anticipated,” Blaise said once Potter had walked off.

“Maybe it’s just taking a bit longer to get started?” Pansy suggested. “Surely it’ll have kicked in by Potions.”

It hadn’t kicked in by Potions.

Potter, true to his word, had said hi to Draco when he’d walked in, nose still buried in that bloody bit of parchment from earlier.

“Are you a bit nervous about the test?” Potter asked Draco. “I might be, a bit. Did you want to go over our notes together?”

“Trying to find a weak spot, Potter?” Draco asked. “Well you won’t find one; I’ve been studying for this for days. And, no, you can’t cheat off me. Keep your beady eyes to yourself.”

And he stood in front of his bench, chin in the air.

Potter looked confused, but shrugged, moving to stand at his own bench.

Pansy and Daphne shared a confused look.

“We screwed up the potion somehow,” Pansy said to Millie. They’d headed back to the Slytherin common room after Potions, eager to work out how to possibly salvage their plan. Starting over wasn’t an option.

“How?” Millie asked. “I thought it would’ve started working by now.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Daphne squeaked, her face going white. Her nose was buried in the large potions book they’d adapted their love potion from.

“What is it?” Pansy asked, tugging the book towards her.

“We need to get Draco to the hospital wing,” Daphne cried, directing Pansy’s eyes towards a passage declaring that improper preparation of the moonfly legs used in the love potion could cause the potion to fail, and even poison the drinker in extreme cases.

“Bugger,” Blaise muttered, getting to his feet. “Anyone know where he went after Potions?”

“The bloody library, probably,” Pansy said, running for the door.

Draco was, thankfully, still alive when they reached the library, barreling in and sprinting through the stacks until they found him huddled over a pile of books in the back corner.

He glared at them when they rushed in.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” Draco cried as Blaise and Greg hauled him to his feet.

“We’re taking you to the hospital wing,” Millie said, gathering up Draco’s books.

“I don’t need to go to the bloody hospital wing,” Draco cried, pulling out his wand. “If any of you touches me I’ll hex you.”

Millie muttered an _Expelliarmus_ at the same time that Pansy shot a _Petrificus Totalus_ spell at Draco, so he wouldn’t be doing much of anything for a while.

Somehow, Draco managed to look extremely pissed off even while completely petrified.

They levitated him to the hospital wing, walking in a group around his floating body that stared up at the ceiling. He’d no doubt hex them all into next week when he got the use of his limbs back, as Greg pointed out.

“At least he’ll be alive,” Millie cried, hysterically.

Draco’s petrified body made an angry sound.

“Madam Pomfrey,” Millie screeched as they all rushed into the hospital wing.

“Oh my,” Pomfrey muttered, moving away from where she’d been standing talking to Potter and Granger. “Has he been petrified? My word, put him down here.” She spelled a set of curtains to appear around the bed.

“He’s been petrified,” Greg said.

“By us,” Blaise elaborated. “He wouldn’t come here otherwise.”

“Has he been hexed then?” Madam Pomfrey asked, casting diagnostic spells over Draco’s body.

“Poisoned,” Daphne said.

“We didn’t mean to,” Millie wailed, apparently on the verge of tears. “We just thought it would be a laugh to give him a potion.”

“What kind of potion, dear? He appears to be in good health,” Madam Pomfrey said, cancelling the diagnostic spells.

“A love potion,” Pansy said. “We gave him one because we thought it’s be a right laugh if he started fawning over Potter.”

“It was only supposed to last a day,” Blaise said. “But we must have buggered it up somehow because it hasn’t been working.”

“I’ll need to talk to him,” Madam Pomfrey said, casting a counter spell on Draco.

“You bloody _dickheads_ ,” Draco hissed, making sure everyone got a dose of his scowl.

“And you’re not feeling any different, Mr. Malfoy?” Madam Pomfrey asked.

“Aside from supremely pissed off, no,” Draco replied.

“We brought some of the potion up with us,” Daphne said, pulling a vial out of her robes. “There’s a little bit left in the bottom. We think it might have been the moonfly legs that did it.

Madam Pomfrey took the vial and held it up, inspecting the liquid in it.

“I’ll send for Professor Slughorn,” she said. “Until then, I’ll have Mr. Potter assist in evaluating the effectiveness of the potion. Mr. Potter,” she called, spelling a gap in the curtains.

Potter shuffled in, face bright red as he glanced at Draco, who was visibly seething.

“Mr. Malfoy, could you please tell us how you’re feeling about Mr. Potter?”

“Like he’s a right bloody idiot,” Draco said through gritted teeth. “But not as much of an idiot as my sodding friends, obviously.”

“Has there been any physical contact between Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy since he consumed the potion?” Madam Pomfrey asked.

“No,” Pansy said. “He hasn’t even wanted to talk to him.”

“Mr. Potter, if you would,” Madam Pomfrey gestured towards the hospital bed.

“Absolutely not,” Draco hissed at Potter. “You are not getting in the bloody bed with me.”

Madam Pomfrey sighed. “Mr. Potter, if you could please take Mr. Malfoy’s hand, then.”

Potter moved to be next to Draco, holding out his hand. Draco shot it a withering look before placing his hand in Potter’s, looking like he was holding a dead fish.

“How do you feel about Mr. Potter now, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Like he’s the same stupid sodding idiot that he’s always been,” Draco grumbled. “Look, obviously nobody in my house but me can brew an effective potion, so can we just give them all failing Potions grades, and I can get back to my essay?”

“You could _die_ , Draco,” Millie wailed. “We didn’t _mean_ to.”

“Sod off,” Draco said, crossing his arms over his chest.

When he arrived, Professor Slughorn assessed the remaining bit of love potion, casting a series of spells on it to determine its components and overall effectiveness. Millie continued to blubber in the corner as they all watched, Greg’s arm around her as they sent a stream of apologies in Draco’s direction.

“Well this is quite curious,” Slughorn said, waving his wand and sending a stream of magic swirling around the vial.

“Is Draco going to die?” Millie asked.

“It’s unlikely at this stage,” Slughorn replied. “You say he’s suffering no ill effects from the potion?”

“None have been observed,” Madam Pomfrey said, glancing at Draco who was glowering down at the sheets on the bed like they’d personally offended him.

“That’s very curious, because this potion has been made exactly right.”

“I’m leaving now,” Draco said abruptly. He attempted to get off the bed, only to be pushed back onto it by Greg, a squawking sound emitting from Draco’s mouth.

“I see no possible reason that the potion hasn’t been successful. According to my assessment, Mr. Malfoy is currently under its influence,” Professor Slughorn said, peering at Draco.

“Well that’s rubbish,” Blaise said.

“But he’s not acting any different,” Millie cried. “He always talks like that about Potter.”

“Well clearly my hatred for stupid sodding _Potter_ has trumped an amateur love potion then, hasn’t it,” Draco said, throwing his arms in the air. “You’ve all clearly not taken into account my utter distaste for all things Potter.”

“Mr. Malfoy, it is impossible to resist the effects of a love potion without extensive preparation beforehand, even a temporary one made by students. It just doesn’t happen.”

Pansy watched as Draco bit his lip and started to fidget.

“Well it’s bloody happened, hasn’t it?” he cried, voice reaching a high pitch.

“I don’t believe it has, Mr. Malfoy,” Slughorn said slowly.

“But he’s acting the same, he’s not…” Greg started, before trailing off.

Everyone went silent as they watched Draco.

His eyes shifted around, probably looking for the best way to get past everyone and sprint out of the room.

The silence was only broken by Pansy’s snort of laughter.

Draco’s eyes focused on her, and he sent a look of withering despair her way.

“Oh my,” Millie said. “Really, Draco?”

“None of you know what you’re on about,” Draco cried. “What you’re suggesting is mental, it’s absolute bollocks and –“

“Draco,” Potter said, cutting Draco off. “Would you like to go for a Butterbeer with me next weekend?”

Draco opened and closed his mouth, eyes wide.

“We could walk down to Hogsmeade together as well?” Potter suggested, smiling. “Maybe grab some sweets while we’re there.”

“Potter, what are you playing at?” Draco hissed. His voice had noticeably less malice in it than it had a few moments before.

“I’m not playing at anything,” Potter replied. He slowly approached Draco, his hand sliding along the bed. “I’m asking you to go on a date with me.”

Draco blinked at him.

“You can say no, if you like,” Potter said, stopping when he was next to Draco. “But I’d really like it if you said yes.”

“Hmm,” Draco said, after a moment of staring at Potter. “Well, it would be rude of me to decline, and I wouldn’t want to rub you the wrong way by rejecting your offer, would I? You’ll owe me, obviously. For doing this, uh, favor for you.”

“Of course,” Potter laughed. “Come on, I’ll walk you back to the library now that we know you’re not on the verge of death.”

“Uh, you don’t have to,” Draco said. And _Merlin_ , he was blushing.

“I want to,” Potter replied, smiling at Draco.

Draco stood with a flourish, smoothing his robes down. He ripped the stack of his books out of Millie’s hands and shot them all a withering glare.

Potter chuckled and shot a shrinking spell at the books, taking them from Draco and slipping his hand into his. Draco looked startled but didn’t pull away, to everyone else’s surprise.

“Well we best be going then, Potter,” he said, standing up straight. “I’m sure I can find a topic to assist you with in the library.”

“I think you’d best start calling me Harry,” Potter said. “Since we’re dating, and all.”

Draco spluttered for a moment before apparently remembering that all his friends were watching everything that was happening. He tugged on Potter’s hand and they set off in the direction of the library.

“Bloody hell,” Blaise muttered.

“What the fuck just happened?” Daphne said. “You’re telling me that Draco’s been in love with Potter for Merlin knows how long, and _that’s_ why the potion didn’t work?”

“It does make sense, if you think about it,” Pansy mused. “A thin line between love and hate, and all that.”

“At least we won’t have to listen to him natter on about Potter all day,” Blaise said. “I was getting bloody tired of it.”

“But he’ll switch over to bloody raving about him, won’t he?” Greg said, shuddering. “What if he tries to talk about them _kissing_?”

“I’ll hex him. We can both hex him if he tries,” Blaise declared, nodding. “I can live without knowing a single damn thing about the Chosen One’s prick.”

Draco didn’t start raving about Potter when he returned to the common room _much_ later that night. He didn’t have to, because his massive bloody smirk did it for him.

“Oh, Godric,” Blaise muttered when Draco waltzed into the common room, robes in disarray and a smug expression on his face, lips so obviously kiss-bitten.

“I suppose I should thank you all for being so bloody shit at Potions,” Draco said, flopping on top of Pansy in the armchair and sighing dramatically.

“Uh, we weren’t shit at Potions,” Millie pointed out. “We made it right. The only reason it didn’t work was because _you_ were already –“

“Alright, alright, those are just details,” Draco said, waving her off.

“Is he a good kisser, Draco?” Pansy asked.

The question was met with a groan from Blaise and Greg, and a predatory smile from Draco.

“Why, yes, Pansy. In fact, Harry’s also incredibly good with his hands. I just about _died_ when he –“

“Yep, that’s enough,” Blaise cried, clapping his hands over his ears. “Fancy a game of chess in the dorm, Greg?”

Greg nodded, a horrified expression on his face.

Draco smirked watching them go.

“We really are sorry about almost poisoning you, Draco,” Millie said.

Draco shrugged, dragging Pansy’s hand to his hair so she could massage his head how he liked. “Doesn’t matter.”

“So, tell us more about _Harry_ ,” Pansy said. “What did you do? What did he say?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Draco sighed wistfully, and launched into a full run down of his afternoon and evening with _Harry_.

Pansy smiled as she half listened to Draco’s story, gasping and making appreciative sounds when Millie and Daphne did. She’d have to start thinking about what their next plot as a group would be. It was starting at get a little boring using the Hufflepuff first years in everything. Maybe they should do something within their own house next time. After all, their plots couldn’t be that bad if they had the end result of making Draco smile like he’d downed a whole bottle of Felix Felicis a few minutes prior.

Or maybe that was just Harry.


End file.
